


dear, ophelia

by ripplingtale



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Student Sandalphon, M/M, Photographer Lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22707700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ripplingtale/pseuds/ripplingtale
Summary: There is no distance to fall if you're close enough.
Relationships: Gran/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	dear, ophelia

**Author's Note:**

> Granblue Fantasy belongs to Cygames, and I, as a writer, didn't take any material profits from the content here. It's Valentine's day here in my place, and Sandalphon's delicate fingers said I should at least write him as a pianist or an artist.

“How is your assignment going, Sandalphon?”

Lucifer slid to the seat across the lone juvenile with a smile on his countenance; his eyes gleamed warmth, his mien was soft, there was nothing but harmless intention at the end of his words. Bless his pure heart, and bless his slow head. Lucifer didn’t even see Sandalphon wincing over his question, shoulders slightly raised as if he had just been stabbed by a blade on his back.

Sandalphon grasped his mug of coffee, breathing in the smell of pastries and cinnamon, the scent of cinders and spring around the edges. “It is going,” he said, a tone lower than the chatters twisting at every corners of the coffee shop. His project was going, indeed, but more as a concept. The deadline was five days away, and Sandalphon hasn’t raised a single brush to work on it.

“The assignment is for the upcoming exhibition, yes? What’s the theme again?” Lucifer placed his phone and bag on the table, pulling his camera out, as well as a bunch of polaroid that he needed to sort. There were quite many, as always, but it was considerably lesser than what he usually had to go through. Lucifer rummaged through his bag again and came back with a glasses case, gently pushing the cover open with his thumbs.

“Ophelia.” Sandalphon’s eyes moved to the photos splayed on their tables, barely realizing he only answered one from two questions. Each and every polaroid had a distinct feeling on them, but all of them was almost similar in a glance; white backgrounds, bold undertones. He could spot a same picture that was taken from different angles, and he could see some completely different pictures that strayed from the rest of the photos. Being photographer was sure hard. Sandalphon sipped his coffee, but then again, so was being a university student majoring in fine art.

“From Hamlet?” Lucifer lifted his head, blue eyes bright beneath his glasses. There was an interest braided alike thread around his voice, as apparent as the glimmer on his gaze, as evident as the flicker of curiosity on his face. Lucifer was the only one who could wear his expression on his countenance, they said, for his older twin brother’s face was freezing in an eternal apathy, and his younger twin brother’s face was carved with an unsettling, troublemaker’s grin.

Sandalphon only nodded, pushing a photo he deemed good enough for Lucifer to discern with a finger; of a young man with hair as alight as fire. Sandalphon might or might not saw the man on an advertisement about an expensive watch some days ago when he was at the station, tired to the bones, hungry to the flesh, and wanting nothing but to fall asleep on his bed.

Lucifer took the photo graciously as another smile made its way to the older male’s lips, slightly wider than the first, with creases on the corners of his eyes. He tapped a finger on the table; his excitement was almost childlike, unguarded and honest. “That reminds me of the magazine’s theme three weeks ago. Do you want to see?”

How could Sandalphon say no?

Lucifer was years older, and Sandalphon always looked up at him, it would be disgraceful to refuse. Besides, who knows if the photos could serve as inspiration he desperately needed? With the deadline approaching faster than a rushing train, Sandalphon didn’t want to end up with absolute garbage, at least. “Sure,” he said, leaning forward to see what Lucifer had for him.

Beaming nearly like the sun itself, Lucifer took out a small brown envelope from his bag and pushed it at Sandalphon’s direction. The envelope was bulging with its contents as if it would burst around the seams, and when Sandalphon pulled at both ends in the bottom part of it, neatly stacked polaroid pressed in a small plastic bag slid out with difficulty.

Lucifer was back to sorting his photos, Sandalphon pried open the plastic bag.

The younger male slowly sorted through the pile. The theme was as cryptic as Lucifer’s current works, but it was far more colorful, more vibrant, it was far more _alive_ than a white background with dark lines; models posed with flowers, buried beneath golden leaves, amber thorns. One stared wistfully at winter sky in such way they were longing to press a kiss upon the cloud, another was grasping a bouquet of white lilies as they prayed upon stained glass.

Sandalphon could understand why Lucifer remembered this the moment he heard the name Ophelia. Everything was vivid and lively, radiant, filled with flowers and gold and silver and every single tinge possible. However, all that was pictured wasn’t the hues, wasn’t the shades, but the yearn and the ache, the somber eyes of a dying soul underneath vibrant petals of various colors.

His hands stopped upon a particular photo. Sandalphon seized his chance to ask when Lucifer stopped sorting his works to take a sip of his coffee. “Who is this?” In his hand was a picture of a young man smiling a dreary smile, his hair was the color of burnished wood, and his eyes were a tone brighter than rust. He was leaning on the foot of a nameless angel statue with flowers gathered on his embrace, the pale hue of the statue contrasted greatly against his slightly tanned demeanor as well as the bursting shades of flowers, pulling every attention right into his solemn countenance.

Lucifer blinked. “Oh? That’s my assistant’s twin brother, his name is Gran.”

Sandalphon flipped the photo back to himself, studying it with keen eyes. Revelation churned between the drone of his thought, ideas gently murmured in his mind. The tips of his fingers tingled with desire to hold a brush, to press against a canvas, the palm of his hand craved for palette. Sandalphon silently stacked the photos and slid it back into the envelope, returning it to Lucifer who was also collecting his newly sorted works.

There was a short pause before Lucifer’s phone abruptly lit up with a buzz. Two pairs of eyes gazed down at the device that was displaying a call from a named number; Lucio. Lucifer reached for his phone, tinkering with it for a moment before he found the accept call button, no doubt still confused on how operating his smartphone. He motioned a gesture to the outside, and after Sandalphon nodded, the older male briskly walked to the door.

Right after Lucifer’s back disappeared, Sandalphon quickly pulled out a sketchbook from his bag. He fumbled with his pencil case, reaching for a pencil sharp enough to do his deed. His sketchbook was a mess of papers bounded together in a leather cover, with his name and numbers scribbled on the corner in case someone found it abandoned somewhere. Cut papers scattered on the table as he flipped through to find a space empty enough to bleed his idea with coals.

After glancing through the windows to make sure Lucifer was still talking through his phone, Sandalphon started to work, as fast as he could. He didn’t want Lucifer to know he wasn’t making progress in his project yet, and he also didn’t want Lucifer to know Sandalphon was sketching his assistant’s twin brother. Nonetheless, he knew it actually would be fine if Lucifer know, for the older male wasn’t the type who would tease Sandalphon like that wretched designer who was a regular in the place he worked at.

Still. Even if Lucifer would know in the end, it didn’t mean he had to know now.

Lines made shapes, shapes turned into a face. Gran had quite sharp cheekbones and definite jaw, one of the facial features an artist and a photographer could notice easily. However, Sandalphon remembered how his cheeks were still round, not at all thin to the point it was only bones. He tried to alter the sketches as much as he could, as subtle as he would. Dreary smile suited Gran well. Sandalphon wondered how Gran would look like should he grinned wide.

Would it be alike to looking at the sun?

Sandalphon glanced up from his sketchbook when someone approached his table; too short to be Lucifer, too dark, with different clothes and nowhere near as graceful. He returned his attention back to the task in hand when the figure halted by Lucifer’s seat. Their voice was hesitant, but also hopeful. “Hello, can I sit here for a bit? I ordered a coffee to go, but it will take a while.”

Another glance was thrown, but his mind was wandering too far from his conscience to the point he barely registered the person’s appearance. Sandalphon pulled at Lucifer’s bag, tucking his camera closer to his own reach, just in case. “Yeah, feel free,” he said after made a space on the table, turning back to his sketchbook. What was Gran’s hair color again? How dark was the brown?

“Thank you!” The figure promptly sat sideways, facing the counter.

Sandalphon eyed Lucifer’s bag. He forgot how dark was Gran’s hair, or how light were his eyes. He could alter it, of course, but he didn’t think any other colors would look as good. Running out of thoughts, Sandalphon stared at the wall far across him, absentmindedly looking at people’s heads. His gaze ended on the figure sitting sideways across him, leaning their jaw on their palm as they quietly watched the barista making drinks.

They had their hood up, but Sandalphon could see their side frame. They were a young man, in the same age as Sandalphon if not younger. Messy strands of brown hair spilled into his forehead, haphazardly combed to the side as to not covering his sight. His cheek was red from the cold, and his lips were almost blue. Must be cold outside, Sandalphon glanced at the windows, Lucifer already moved closer to the door of the coffee shop.

“My coffee is here, thank you again!”

Sandalphon snapped from his thought. He turned to the young man, but he already walked to the counter to take his coffee. Sandalphon didn’t hear the barista called a name. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled the acceptance of gratitude, albeit knowing no one would hear him. His hand started moving again, scribbling notes on the colors that he forgot, basing his perception over the shades of the just now stranger’s hair, and then took a color two tones lighter for the eyes.

It was Gran’s hair colors, all right, he remembered now. Burnished wood, darker than rust.

But what were the odds?

Sandalphon closed his sketchbook, gathering the papers that scattered on the table. His sketch was more or less done, but he should check it again when he was home. Lucifer walked in seconds after, his phone in his hand. The moment the older male sat across him, Sandalphon asked, “Lucifer, do you have more photos from the theme just now?”

Lucifer took off his glasses, tucking it back into the hard-shelled case. “I do,” he said, pulling his bag close and once more rummaging through it. A moment later, he pulled out a flash drive with a thumb-sized keychain depicting a young lady dressed in gown made of roses attached to it. “In here, though,” Lucifer continued, showing the flash drive on his palm.

Sandalphon couldn’t help but think the flash drive wasn’t Lucifer’s.

“Can I borrow that?” The younger male pointed at the flash drive, wishful was his voice. Sandalphon didn’t know whether there would be enough references in that, let alone whether there was another photo of Gran, because from the way Lucifer said it, Gran was obviously not one of the original models that work with Lucifer’s agency. Still, one could try.

“Of course, I don’t see why not.” Lucifer lightly shrugged, head tilted.

The flash drive changed hand, and Sandalphon shot up to stand. He gathered his belongings; ideas running miles, eyes alight with intentions. “Thank you, Lucifer. I’ll call you later,” he said, almost in a beat before rushing out, waving goodbyes as fast as he could.

Lucifer, though confused, waved back good-naturedly. However, Sandalphon’s frame has long disappeared through the glass doors, past the crowds, briskly weaving his steps between cheerfully chatting groups and lone walkers. His university’s dorm wasn’t that far from the coffee shop, but he walked faster than a lost boy fearful of the dusk.

The moment he entered his room, Sandalphon bolted to the corner slanted from the front door, where painted canvases pushed to the wall in vertical stacks and an unoccupied easel stood tall. He reached for the last empty canvas he had in his room, placing it carefully on the easel. He hoped he wouldn’t need to buy more canvas; he busted his savings for brushes and new paints weeks ago.

With abandon, Sandalphon promptly emptied his bag, reaching for the sketchbook that slid out along with all of his stuff. He opened the book right on his newest sketch, a glance was thrown to the canvas on the easel, and then back to his sketch, and then back to the canvas again. His gaze was thoughtful, scrutinizing. He could rework some things as he went. He should.

Brush was taken, palette was filled. Seconds geared into minutes, hours tumbled the moon up. He still had plenty of time to meet the deadline, but Sandalphon couldn’t stop. Lines made shapes, shapes turned into a face, two eyes, a nose, lips, hair the color of burnished wood, rusted stares, flowers, lots of it. He drew one too many forget-me-nots, three too many gerberas, the canvas was soon Sandalphon’s definition of Ophelia.

Dreary smile suited Gran well, Sandalphon wondered how Gran would look like should he grinned wide. He would draw him with a smile, he could see how it would turn out. White teeth peering from lips, a tiny fang in the corners, perhaps. There would be light in his rusted eyes, and luster on his countenance. But Ophelia’s smile was a step away from madness, was hers not?

At the brink of the dawn, Sandalphon stepped back to admire his work. He should think of a title soon, it was mandatory for the students to embed a title alongside their work.

It was quite rushed, a professional eye could tell. But it would earn him a B, at least. Good thing Sandalphon didn’t put an ounce of interest in competing for a place in the annual exhibition his major put up to display masterpieces of the qualified students, lest he wouldn’t be satisfied with his work no matter how many canvases tossed above the stacks in the corner.

Or so he said.

However, Sandalphon still couldn’t stop the rush of his blood when he saw his Ophelia hang on the wall at the day of the exhibitions. His breath halted, his thoughts stopped, it was the first time he saw his work framed on the wall like some kind of expensive trinket when he knew so well he finished it only in one night without clear goals in mind. Jaw loose, eyes wide, he blinked to saw his name beneath the silver frame. Yeah, that was his name, all right.

Sandalphon had invited Lucifer, as always, because he knew Lucifer enjoyed galleries and exhibitions, but now, knowing his work was for some reason chosen as a part of exhibition, he could taste upcoming questions from his older brother figure. He didn’t know whether he was blessed or cursed, or perhaps, it was Belial’s prayer granted after Sandalphon jabbed his ribs with a broom full force at his part-time workplace.

His focus was snapped when his phone lit up with a hum. Lucifer was close, Sandalphon turned to find him. There weren’t that many people, thus it was easy to find a head of platinum locks.

Lucifer saw him first, he waved with a smile. Sandalphon blinked upon two smaller frames that followed Lucifer closely alike lost ducklings; one was a little girl, past fourteen at least. The most apparent thing from her was her hair, long and blue, the same hue of midsummer’s sky. The second one was also a girl, a bit older. Her appearance wasn’t as eccentric as the other with normal, shoulder-length golden hair and a pair of familiar brown eyes. Both gazed at Sandalphon with curious eyes, Sandalphon gazed at Lucifer with a questionable stare.

“Sandalphon, great job on your assignment,” Lucifer smiled, _he knew_. But before Sandalphon could open his mouth, Lucifer interjected to continue his words, animated and warm, almost proud. “I hope you didn’t mind I bring my acquaintances. This is Djeeta, my assistant, and Lyria, her little sister.”

Djeeta nodded a greeting, Lyria wreathed a shy smile. Sandalphon returned the greeting with a nod of his own. Lucifer’s smile widened upon the interaction, no less pleased by how his acquaintances from his work and Sandalphon got along. He, then, pointed at a direction behind Sandalphon’s back, blue eyes gleamed glad. “And that is Gran, Djeeta’s twin brother.”

Sandalphon never turned around so fast.

Gran’s hair was a shade darker beneath the blinding light of gallery, a shade closer to mahogany. His side frame was identical to the figure who sat across Sandalphon on the coffee shop days ago, only clearer, and more alive than a mere random shadow in a crowd.

Gran stood right in front of his own countenance, silver-framed, tenderly titled, hands were crossed in front of his chest as he stared at himself lying in shallow water, between brimming forget-me-nots, tumbling lotus, blooming wisteria dipped above his head. In the painting, his face was filled with hazy confusion, with questions, with melancholy of no words. In the hallway, however, Gran’s face was thoughtful, drowning deep on his mind.

Sandalphon turned back to Lucifer. No thoughts, head empty, nothing tumbled from his mouth. Djeeta, seemingly haven’t seen Sandalphon’s work yet, waved at her twin brother, calling his name loud enough to pull attention of the said young man. “Gran!” She waved her hand, beckoning him to come closer and place his acknowledgment to the one who brought them here.

Gran was shorter than Sandalphon, inches and then some. He looked at Lucifer first, greeting him with a grin. He took a glance at Sandalphon, and Sandalphon could see his brain just halted, came to a standstill. Would Gran put a disgust? It was Sandalphon’s fault to refuse altering even a line of his countenance. But then again, he had no way of knowing his work would be exhibited, yes? And he had no way of knowing Lucifer would take his assistant here either.

“Are you the one who draw that piece?” Gran pointed at his own face hanging behind, no doubt already recognizing Sandalphon from Lucifer. Sandalphon wondered what was Lucifer thinking, what was his plan, what was he trying to do. The older male’s train of thoughts was peculiar at best, and so were the two of his siblings, only differed in the way they took actions.

Lucifer was smiling warmly, Sandalphon took a pause before answering, “… Yes.”

Gran grinned wide. There was delight in his eyes, blooming into a glint. His voice was heartfelt, enthusiastic, and his words were as pleasant as his smile. “Your work is beautiful,” he said, in a way so genuine, so sincere, there was nothing but faith should his words be tumbled upside down.

Something just skipped a beat.

The tips of Sandalphon’s ears were red.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading through the end.
> 
> I don't know what am I doing but I sure do love the title. Thank you Frey, for proofreading this, and for saying Sandalphon is an unknowing dumbass. I love writing Sandalphon being a pining dumbass, Gran deserves all the pining. I failed to publish something on Valentine's last year, so I'm quite happy I got to publish something this year.
> 
> I might write about Gran and Djeeta as siblings next, their dynamics in here, and my other modern AU work, is just whatever I say it is. I love this idea of them as a pair of twin so much, it sounds so warm and chaotic.
> 
> Wish y'all have a good day today!


End file.
